The Deepest Blues are Black
by sponsormusings
Summary: She was the Mockingjay; the Victor everybody wanted, but no one could have - unless they were willing to pay the price. He was the toast of the artistic world; young, and a little naive, unaware of what he was about to walk into. He didn't intend to love her, but he did. She wasn't allowed to love him, but she did. In-Panem AU, inspired by the film Moulin Rouge!


_A submission for Prompts in Panem, March/April 2015. Day 7._

* * *

_It was virtually an unspoken rule with the elite; an expectation, a requirement. If you were in the Capitol on a Friday or Saturday night, there was only one place to see and be seen. A place full of debauchery, the underbelly of the Capitol slithering under the glittering surface._

_If you weren't at The Birdcage, you were a nobody. And if you were nobody...well, no one from the Capitol wanted to be seen as a nobody. So you went, and you enjoyed it - whether you wanted to or not._

* * *

The first time he saw her in person, she was perched high above everyone else in the club, on a gilded swing much like what her namesake would sit on if it _were_ contained in a cage. The Mockingjay, everyone called her, though once upon a time she'd simply been Katniss Everdeen. She'd been known by other names - _daughter, sister, Tribute, Girl on Fire, Victor_ \- but none had stuck as much as the one she had now.

He knew why.

Her voice was like nothing he, or anyone else, had ever heard. In the Arena, the birds had stopped to listen, and outside, so had the people. She'd bewitched them with her voice, and as a result, they'd spoiled her with sponsor gifts, celebrated what they called a victory, invited her into the highest stratosphere of the Capitol social circles. And soon enough, they'd led her here, to the place where the most popular Victors spent their Friday nights when they were in town. And she became their most popular act, their most popular Victor.

Their most popular companion, at a price.

Peeta Mellark sipped slowly on the glass of bubbly green liquid he held, tuned out the disgusting and lascivious things the men at the next table were saying, and didn't take his eyes off her as she began to sing, the swing gently taking her across the room in mesmerising circles. In the lights that shined on her, the dress she wore gleamed and glittered, a combination of black and the deepest blue he'd ever seen, the colours of her namesake. It skimmed down her torso, ended in a short flounce at her hips at the top of the long, lean legs that were bare for every pair of hungry eyes to see. Her breasts threatened to spill over the top of the corset with each breath she took, but he barely even noticed.

He'd seen her on screen, of course, had read articles about her. Even Finnick, the Victor he'd had the opportunity to paint over a year ago, had spoken of her fondly. But he'd never expected this. Not so quick, not so _suddenly_.

He hadn't come to The Birdcage tonight to fall in love. But with nothing more than one simple look, he thought maybe he had.

* * *

Across the room, she watched as he watched her, his eyes never shifting from her face. If she hadn't been used to the constant attention, the constant staring and leering she received every time she was in the Capitol, she would have felt awkward, uncomfortable. But there was something different about his gaze - innocent, not searching, not _sexual._

Usually, everything was sexual in the Capitol.

Katniss continued singing, even as the swing she sat on slowly lowered her to the ground. With a move that was far more graceful than the first dozen times she'd tried it, she slid off the swing, her thin blue heels landing on the polished wooden floors. The microphone was already there, centre stage, waiting for her to finish, to cap off the night's performances, to send the crowd wild as she sang, low and sultry and slow. Seductively, in a way that made every man and woman in the room want her.

She kept her gaze on the man as she sang, as she slid her hands up and down the microphone stand in the way she'd been instructed to do, and made a silent wish that whoever was visiting her that night, that they would be as gentle as the looks were that the blond man was sending her way.

"Katniss, darling, wonderful performance as usual!" Tullius, the effusive manager of The Birdcage, made a beeline directly for her, his broad arms outstretched in a waiting embrace. "Simply wonderful! Finnick whipped them into a frenzy earlier, and you were the delectable cherry on top, my dear!"

She allowed his arms to wrap around her, held her breath so she didn't pass out from the overpowering cologne he wore, then pasted a smile as sincere as she could on her face. "Thank you Tullius, the crowd certainly _was_ enthusiastic tonight."

He pulled away, grinned giddily. "They're just so excited, with the next games less than 2 months away! It's always the most exciting time of year - and everyone is always _more_ than generous at this time too," He winked.

Katniss had to fight the urge to slap him.

"Wonderful," she smiled through thin lips, tugged on the pins that wrapped her simple braid around her head into something far more dramatic than she'd normally wear. "Anything to tell me for tonight?" Better to know up front if he had any strange kinks or requirements. Better to know exactly how many drinks she'd need to get through the night.

"Well I can tell you now, the gentleman we have lined up - he asked for you specifically, by the way - is _stunningly _handsome, very wealthy. _And_ famous himself!"

She hid her grimace - normally the famous ones were the worst - and fixed a look of false curiosity on her face. "Oh?"

"It's Cassius!" Tullius practically squealed, flinging his hands up in the air.

Unfortunately for her, the name meant nothing. Even though she spent more than half her time in the Capitol now, she paid little attention to the happenings, the famous people, the fads - she simply just didn't care.

She had more important things to worry about.

"Was he here tonight? I didn't see him in the crowd," Katniss said casually - she didn't want Tullius to know that she was oblivious to who he was, otherwise she'd be here for another half an hour, getting a rundown on the man's career.

She didn't care about that either.

Tullius lifted a hand, smoothed back his black and pink striped pompadour. "Oh, my dear, of course he was! I'm certain you saw him - he was in one of the booths at the back. In the VIP section? His blond hair shining like a beacon?"

Katniss' mind flashed back to lowering to the floor as she sang, the man at the back of the room, the man who didn't look at her the way so many others did. And for once, she didn't feel as nervous. Maybe, just maybe, her silent wish had been granted.

"Anyway, Katniss, you do really need to head for your quarters," Tullius continued, smoothing his hands over his plump belly. "Finnick's already made his way to his room, and Cashmere will be in hers shortly. You know I much prefer all of you to be tucked away before the midnight guests arrive. Cassius will be there soon, and then...well, I can't begin to tell you how important tonight is."

"Oh?"

Tullius lowered his voice to a whisper. "He's interested in...exclusivity."

"Exclusivity?"

His eyes twinkled with excitement. "Of you, Katniss. Exclusivity of _you_. And he's willing to pay handsomely for it. President Snow is _very_ interested in his proposal."

Katniss knew what he meant, without him saying anything more. If President Snow was interested in the proposal, it meant that there was really no option for her. Because every decision she made was for Prim, and her mom, to keep them safe and unharmed. The more she said yes to whatever President Snow deemed she do, the less chance there was of Prim's name ever being plucked from the reaping bowl, the less chance that Prim and Alice would end up the way her mentor's family had.

If President Snow deemed she be the property of one Cassius, a blond haired celebrity from the Capitol, then that's what she'd have to be.

* * *

Peeta paced back and forth across the room decorated in soft gold and white, curtains in various shades of green draped across the windows, looping from the ceiling. A giant bed - plush with pillows and the fluffiest quilt he'd ever seen in his life - dominated the room, almost screaming with the real purpose of these quarters. All things considered, it wasn't as gaudy as he'd expected, or had been led to believe. He could work with what was here, he mused, bring the rest of the room to life with a landscape across the back wall.

It wasn't the kind of commission he normally took, not these days. Somehow, in the last year, he'd become the toast of the art world in the Capitol - people clamoured for his landscapes, and interpretations of the Capitol and the country that surrounded it. They wanted murals and canvases as big as hologram screens, and huge pieces of artwork that would hang in lobbies of government buildings and in the homes of their officials.

So he'd never really expected to receive a request for a commission at The Birdcage.

It wasn't the type of place he normally frequented, wasn't a place he particularly liked. He'd never really enjoyed the Games - _not that he would ever, ever dream of admitting that to_ _anyone _\- and had always thought the Victors should be at home in their District, living their lives peacefully. Instead, some always returned for weeks, months, years after they won, to make the most of their popularity. To continue to live in the spotlight, to be loved by the citizens, long after their turn in the sun was over.

At least that's what he'd always thought.

But Katniss had never seemed the type to want the attention - she'd always been taciturn in interviews, more sarcastic than playful, more interested in returning to her sister in Twelve than staying in the Capitol. And tonight...tonight...something in her eyes when they'd locked gazes had told him a story of unhappiness. Those silvery-grey irises had spoken of an endless sadness, one he wasn't sure he completely understood.

Everything about her confused him, and drew him to her at the same time.

Shaking his head of his thoughts - she'd been on his mind constantly from the moment she'd started performing - he focused on the room again, thought about what exactly he could paint on the wall that was currently nothing but a plain, warm gold canvas. And was startled when the door suddenly flung open and Katniss herself walked in, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him; he was fairly certain the look on his face mirrored hers.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't expect you to be here so soon…"

He was both amused and impressed at how quickly her voice had changed from a shocked squeal to a sultry invitation.

He shook his head, quickly realising he'd been directed to the wrong room - he'd been right when it hadn't seemed like a room that Cashmere would occupy. "No need to apologise Miss Everdeen. I must be-"

"Thirsty?" She closed the door behind her, crossed to a long mahogany buffet, her hips swaying with each step. She lifted a crystal decanter, slid her tongue across her lower lip. "This is my mentor, Haymitch's, favourite. Would you like some?"

Peeta glanced at his watch - okay, he was really late now that he was in the wrong room, and his client was probably going to be ropeable -

"Drink?" She'd already half filled the tumbler, moved back to hold the glass out in front of him. Her eyes were outlined in black, her eyelashes studded with small diamonds that made her eyes sparkle. The grey irises themselves were stunning as they stared back at him in such close proximity.

"I...probably shouldn't," he told her, though everything inside of him wanted to.

"Want to keep your wits about you?" she purred, and slugged the drink back herself. "Well, I suppose I can respect that." She trailed a finger down the front of his shirt before turning to put the glass back on the buffet. She shot a look over her shoulder at him that made his chest - and groin - tighten. "I've heard you're a little bit famous."

Peeta looked at his watch again, wondered how late was considered _too_ late, and took a step towards Katniss. "I, uh...I suppose I am. A little."

"A little? That's not what I've heard. I heard everyone in the Capitol loves you."

He blushed - he couldn't help it, he still wasn't used to receiving praise for his work, not after years of receiving nothing but negativity from his mother - and cleared his throat nervously. "Well, some do. Quite unexpected, really."

"Unexpected or not, you must be very good." She lowered down onto a plush green sofa, crossed one long leg over the other. "So tell me - what is it you're looking for tonight?"

Peeta ran through his hair, took another step towards her. He wanted to go - he _needed_ to go - but he couldn't. The irresistible force he'd been drawn to during her performance had increased tenfold. "Actually, I...I shouldn't even be here."

Katniss raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Ohhhhh. The forbidden, is it? _That's_ unexpected."

"Excuse me?"

She laughed, low and throaty. "Oh, I understand, you're an actor. You want us to play _roles._ That's okay. We can do that." She breathed in deeply, her eyes quickly flicking away before she rose to her feet, skimmed a hand down her hip. "Just tell me who you'd like me to be."

Peeta blinked rapidly, wondering what the hell was going on. "Ahh, look. I'm not sure what you're talking about, but I must have been sent in here by mistake. I'm meant to be in Cashmere's room right now."

Her face drained, and she froze on the spot. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm meant to be in Cashmere's room."

"But…" her brow marred with confusion, she wrapped her arms around her waist self-consciously. "I thought you wanted exclusivity?"

"Of what?"

"Of...of me."

"Of you? What?" Peeta's eyes widened. "I'm just here for a commission."

"A _commission?_" Katniss yelped. "What the hell for?"

"What?" He ran his hands through his hair again, even more confused than what he was before. "I don't know what you mean. My name is Peeta Mellark and I'm-"

"An artist," she breathed out, and he watched the colour drain from her face. "Oh no."

"Oh no, _what_?"

"I...I thought…"

"You thought what?"

She reached up, tugged nervously on the end of her hair, her fingers knotting in the midnight strands. "You shouldn't be here. I thought you were Cassius."

"Cassius?" Peeta couldn't help the laugh that fell from his lips, though he swallowed it down the moment he saw the scowl cross her face. _There. That look. That was the one he'd enjoyed seeing whenever she spoke to Caesar Flickerman on screen, not this vapid, temptress thing she had going on_. "Cassius is the most well known actor in the Capitol. Surely you know the difference between he and I."

"No I don't!" Katniss hissed, the sultry veneer she had on falling away. She suddenly looked like the 20 year old woman she really was. "I don't pay attention to frivolous things like that!" Then, almost as though she was remembering where she was, she straightened, drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. I don't really watch movies or television, and Tullius just told me that Cassius was the blond man in one of the two VIP booths at the back of the room. I guess there were two blond men."

"I guess there were," Peeta agreed. Then the things the men at the table next to him filtered back into his mind, and his jaw clenched. "But, uh, maybe it's a good thing that I'm here and he's not."

"Oh?"

Peeta cleared his throat, looked away. "The things I overheard him saying, they...they…"

Katniss sighed, dropped to the sofa. "It's okay. I can only imagine." He watched the way her shoulders slumped, as she dropped her chin into her hands. "So you're just here to paint something? Not...not sleep with one of us?"

He took a chance and crossed the room, gingerly lowered himself to the seat beside her. "No, I'm not. Just a painting," he confirmed. "Apparently Cashmere is interested in overhauling her quarters, and requested me."

Katniss snorted. "At midnight? Of course she did. I'd say Cashmere is well versed in Capitol celebrities, and what they look like."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peeta leant back in the seat, curious as to her comments.

She rolled her eyes. "You live in the Capitol, Peeta Mellark. You'd be well aware that you're an attractive man, and I'd say for certain she's aware too. Cashmere is...well, let's just say she might have invited you to paint a wall, but she would have had you paying out of your own pocket for something else by the end of your consultation."

His mouth dropped open. "Excuse me? I'm not the kind of man who does things like pay for sex."

"Then you'd be one of the few here who doesn't," she sighed. "You should go. Cashmere will be hysterical by now that you didn't show, and Cassius will be here any moment."

He noticed that she was careful not to make eye contact, had clenched her hands tightly together in her lap to try and stop them from trembling.

It didn't work, and in a sharp moment of clarity, something told him that working and performing at The Birdcage maybe wasn't what she wanted. That her extended moment in the spotlight, being loved by the Capitol and its citizens both emotionally and physically, was not hers by choice. It explained the sadness and unhappiness he'd seen, the persona she'd cultivated that didn't really seem like her.

"You're not here because you want to be here, are you?" he whispered, lowering his head. "You don't want this life."

He heard the hitch in her breath. "You can't ask me things like that."

"Just answer me, please." His heart pounded like a drum, wondered what would be worse - knowing that she _did_ want to be here, or that she was here because she _had _to be. "Be honest, I promise you don't have to pretend with me."

It felt like her response took an eternity, and when it came, his own heart shattered at the emptiness of it. "No, I don't. But I have to. I have no choice."

_Dammit. _"I don't want to leave you here tonight. He...he's going to hurt you."

Her head swivelled towards him. "What?"

"Cassius. He's into...scenarios that hurt, that cause pain."

"Oh." Her hands shook even more, and he didn't even think twice when his own reached out and covered them firmly.

"What can I do? What can I do to stop him?"

"You can't. He'll be here soon."

A panic rose in Peeta's chest, one he hadn't felt since he was a small child. "Let me...let me pay for tonight. I'll double whatever he's paying." He didn't know what he was saying, didn't even have a clue what to do. All he knew was that he had to make sure she never got hurt.

Her lips firmed. "So you can do what _you_ want instead?"

"No!" He shook his head emphatically. "Not at all. Just to...to keep you safe. To make sure he doesn't do to you what I heard him say he was going to do." His stomach churned, remembering the words he'd heard the men beside him utter. Things he'd thought were utterly disrespectful and deplorable, even before he knew they were actually intended to be acted out on _anyone_, let alone Katniss.

Now, the memory made his blood boil.

"I meant what I said before, when I said he wanted exclusivity. There won't be anything you can do." Her voice was soft, broken, and she looked away again - but not before he could see the vacancy in her eyes. She was already going to a place she could work through, he realised. A place she could go while she gave her body to that night's highest bidder. "You need to go."

"I'll think of something," he promised, rising to his feet. _Like what?_, his mind kept repeating, but he ignored it. "Just...tonight, pretend to be sick."

"That won't be hard," she murmured. "I often am. But I can't. I…" she trailed off, and Peeta took the chance to jump in again.

"Please, just try. Just...don't let him near you tonight, and I'll come up with something."

Katniss still didn't look at him. "Why? What am I to you for you to even care?"

"I don't know," he murmured. _I fell in love with you at first sight _seemed a little too much to tell her. "But I do know that you don't deserve to live your life this way. Especially not after what you've been through. You deserve to live your life in peace, in your home. With your family."

She lowered her head, and he saw one single tear hit the back of his palm. "I'll try," she whispered.

Somehow, he knew she would.

* * *

Tullius hadn't been happy when she'd called him, when she'd told him she was ill and that she couldn't accept visitors. He'd sighed, and humphed, and reminded her of Cassius' offer of exclusivity. She'd had to swallow back the bile at the reminder - now, knowing his preferences, she understood why Snow had thought the offer a good one - but she'd expressed her sympathy, and offered to make it up to him next Friday.

Whether Cassius was happy with the arrangement or not, it didn't matter. Tullius had accepted her word for it - with the knowledge she'd never reneged on a night before tonight - and agreed to make the alternate offer.

Which was how, an hour later, Katniss found herself curled on her window seat, glancing out to the Capitol spread out in front of her. And wondered about Peeta Mellark.

Surprisingly, she _had_ heard of him before, though not in the usual ways. She'd heard his name through Finnick, a fellow Victor and performer at The Birdcage, who had met Peeta a year earlier. Finnick himself had been a surprise to her after they'd met during her first year of being a Mentor - flirty and outgoing and blatantly sexual, she'd firmly put him in the box of 'people to avoid'. He made her feel awkward and uncomfortable and defensive - and it had taken six months of performances at The Birdcage and accidentally stumbling across him crying in his quarters, to discover who he really was. A broken, 27 year old man who performed raunchy stripteases in public, and sexual acts behind closed doors, to ensure the woman he loved back home was unharmed.

That was the first day she'd realised that she wasn't the only one subjected to this against their free will.

Tonight, though, Peeta had saved her. Her knight in shining armor, she thought wryly, remembering the children's stories her father used to read to Prim before bedtime, as she thought back to his gleaming blond hair and perfectly cut suit and shining black shoes.

The simple sight of him in her room had sent a shiver down her spine that she'd never experienced before. She'd always associated sex with what her clients wanted, and nothing to do with what _she_ wanted. But in that moment, when he'd fought valiantly to stop his eyes from drifting to her legs, and when his pupils had dilated when she'd glanced back over her shoulder at him, she'd wanted him, wanted someone in _that_ way for the first time. But everything had changed when he'd revealed that he wasn't there for _her _that night, and the intensity and purpose and pleading in his voice as he'd begged her to pretend to be sick had struck a different chord. One she couldn't acknowledge. One that she wasn't _allowed_ to acknowledge.

Drawing her finger across the glass that separated her from the world, she silently thanked Peeta Mellark for an unexpected night of peace.

* * *

"I'm terribly sorry about the mixup, Tullius. I hope Cashmere can forgive me."

Peeta sat, figurative hat in hand, in the middle of Tullius' over-decorated office. It was all silver statues and oddly shaped pieces of artwork and uncomfortable furniture, with posters lining the wall of women in various states of undress as they kicked their legs and raised their arms in a frozen dance.

He'd left The Birdcage the night before immediately after leaving Katniss, not even bothering to go into Cashmere's room. His decision not to go in had been an easy one, from the noises he'd heard behind the closed door, and he'd headed straight home to his apartment to develop some sort of plan, to get Katniss out of this agreement that had been put in place for her with Cassius. What he'd come up with wasn't a long term solution, wasn't the plan he really wanted. But it would buy him time, and that's what he needed more than anything.

Tullius leant back in his chair, grinned widely. "No need to apologise, Mr Mellark! I warned Cashmere not to organise external appointments when she should be seeing clients; one of her regulars appeared right on midnight. No harm, no foul."

"That's good to hear," Peeta said, breathing out a sigh of - false - relief. "Because I _was_ hoping to continue with the commission. And was thinking…"

"Yes?"

Peeta took a deep breath, hoping that his suggestion would be one that the robust gentleman would accept. "It's been a long time since The Birdcage first opened, yes?"

"Yes…"

"Well, after looking around your magnificent building last night, I was wondering whether you'd put any thoughts into redecorating?"

The man's eyebrows lifted. "Redecorating, Mr Mellark? Is there something wrong with my establishment?"

_Shit! _"No, Tullius, not at all! It's wonderful - I'm just sorry it's taken me so long to pay it a visit. I just thought, well, tastes in the Capitol are changing. They're looking for, well...glamour. A golden age from another time. Thick red curtains dotted with stars, gold trims, low lights that make _everyone_ attractive."

He could see the consideration crossing Tullius' face, and knew what he was describing to be true, regardless. The clean lines of the last decade in the Capitol were moving back to the excess and old world feel from an age ago. Technically, he was doing the man a favour.

"I like the idea, Peeta. A little overhaul might be just what we need, especially coming into the next Games. What exactly would this entail?" Tullius mused, lifting his hands so that his pointer fingers pressed into the cleft of his chin.

"I could lead the project, along with a few friends I have that are experienced in building and contracting and decorating. You may need to close for a month," Peeta said apologetically, watched as Tullius blanched. "Though it might not be that long. But imagine the anticipation, the _excitement_ when you reopened. A full overhaul, a brand-new Birdcage. People will be _clamoring _to be here after a month's deprivation. And by the time you reopened, you'd be moving right into the Games period."

Peeta's final words got Tullius' attention, and he sat forward in his seat, eyes gleaming. "Everyone spends even more money around the Games, you know," he whispered.

Outwardly, Peeta was smiling, while inwardly, he was cringing. He knew what he was offering was only a short term solution to save Katniss from the situation she was in. He only wished he could do more.

"I do have one more request, however."

"Oh?"

Peeta smiled self-deprecatingly. "The Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen. I have a friend who...well, let's just say he has a lot of fantasies of her."

"Does he now?" He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made Peeta almost choke.

"He does. Though unfortunately, she falls well out of his price range."

"Such a shame," Tullius sighed.

"But it's his birthday coming up, and I was hoping that perhaps, for a fee, I could paint her. Use her as a model. Then give it to him as a gift, and he could stare at her on his wall all day long. Easy money for you while The Birdcage is closed down, and it saves me from hearing my friend complain that he'll never see her."

Tullius sat back in his seat, contemplated Peeta's additional offer. "Just one portrait?"

"Just one. Completed while the renovations are being carried out." Peet shifted in his chair, fixed what he knew was his most charming smile on his face. "Well, Tullius? What do you say?"

The manager sat forward in his seat eagerly. "Peeta - we have a deal. From this week, The Birdcage is under renovations, and you'll get to paint our pretty little bird!"

* * *

It progressed quicker than Peeta expected. By the following Wednesday, the doors to The Birdcage were locked, plans were drawn up, walls were already being knocked down. Most Victors, already sent home, were informed they weren't required in the Capitol until the following month, and if Tullius heard their sighs of relief over the phone line, he didn't acknowledge them. There was only one hitch.

Cassius.

He'd been promised, explicitly, from President Snow himself, that Katniss would be his, and his alone. And as someone who was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted, he wasn't happy about waiting another month for her.

He tossed threats, arguments, promised even more money. But for once, Tullius was firm. He would wait, like everyone else. And at the end of the month, he would get his reward. He would get Katniss.

She hadn't been happy at first, to be told that everyone else was allowed to return home except for her. But when Peeta had stepped into her quarters and explained his proposal to her, she'd accepted. She knew the ins and outs of this side of the Capitol - he knew very little. He couldn't come up with a plan to keep her from Cassius' clutches without her help and insider knowledge. So she'd agreed to his fake portrait sessions, in the hopes that, somehow, they could come up with something.

Even without the actual portrait being real, though, he still sketched her for hours, his artists fingers eager to commit her to paper as they sat in her quarters and tried to establish a plan. He asked her question after question, until he realised that some things, personal things, she would just never answer. Sometimes, it was like talking to a brick wall.

But he kept trying, and he kept on falling for her, harder and harder each day.

Because even when she didn't realise it, she sang, lilting, haunting melodies that echoed around her room.

And he couldn't help but stop to listen.

* * *

She watched him out of the corner of her eye while he drew, the concentration clear on his face. His blue eyes were focused, a line marring the space between his brows. His blond hair was tousled from his constant running through of his hands, and the collar of his shirt was undone, giving her a glimpse of smooth, pale skin.

And even while the unexpected need she felt for him overwhelmed her, Katniss had to remind herself that he was just trying to help save her. Nothing more.

"What's your favourite colour?"

"What do you think?"

"Green."

"So astute, Peeta Mellark."

"I am an artist, after all."

They grinned at each other, the smiles of co-conspirators.

This was a safe area, useless questions about things that weren't personal, but began to show them the hidden sides of the other. She learned he always double-knotted his shoelaces, he learned that she had a goat back in Twelve called Lady. Her favourite food was lamb stew, while he had a sweet tooth to rival any child's.

"Mine's orange, by the way."

"Like Effie's hair?" she asked, screwing her nose up, remembering the colour her District Escort's hair had returned to recently.

Peeta laughed. "No, like the sunset."

She sighed, stared back out the window, her mood plummeting. "The sunsets here have nothing on the ones in Twelve."

* * *

The renovations progressed, quicker than he would have liked. Floorboards were sanded, new windows installed, bannisters a gleaming mahogany replacing the previous steel ones. He painted murals on walls that were complete, finished the painting in Cashmere's room - which, in the end, had been a giant portrait of her, lounging naked on her bed.

It was his least favourite commission by a long shot.

At the end of each day, he would sneak to Katniss' room, whether they had a 'session' scheduled or not. He'd draw her regardless, and she'd still sing well into the night, her voice continuing to linger with him when he tried to sleep when he returned home.

He still wasn't any closer to figuring out what to do, and he was running out of time.

"What's wrong?"

"Why?"

"You're...you're staring at me."

He looked back down to the sketch on his lap, a blush covering his cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

Katniss swallowed heavily, tried to ignore the flutter in her chest that had seemed to grow the more time they spent together. That original flicker of interest from the first time they met kept increasing, until some days, she thought it would do nothing but overpower her.

She still wanted him, more than anything she'd wanted in her life. And maybe he _did_ want her back. "Peeta?"

"Yeah?" he didn't even look up from whatever he was drawing again, his focus and concentration solely on the artwork coming to life.

"You know you might not be able to do anything about Cassius, and that this was all for nothing, right?"

He shook his head, and she could see his jaw clench tightly. "That's not going to happen, Katniss."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because...because…"

"Because?"

"I won't let it. I won't let him do anything to you."

"But why? You've gotten yourself involved in all of this, and you really don't know me at all."

He lifted his gaze then, his eyes burning. "Whether I knew you or not, Katniss, it's not right. This whole selling Victors for a price, for a profit? It's not right at all. But I _do_ know you. And-" he broke off, glanced away, his cheeks flushed.

"Peeta?"

She waited until he looked back at her before she unfolded herself from the sofa, crossed the room to him until she stopped just before his seat. Then she bent down, cupped her hands around his cheeks and pressed her lips to his, soft and gentle. It was like a whisper, the barest of touches. Then she pulled away just enough for their eyes to connect, for their breaths to mingle.

"That's not why I'm here," he managed to choke out.

"I know," Katniss whispered. "But I want it anyway."

"We can't."

"I know."

"We-" he broke off, leaning forward in his seat to clutch his hands around her hips and drag her into his lap, fixing his mouth hotly to hers.

She liked to think of it as her first kiss, because it was the first one she'd wanted. The first one that left her craving more.

* * *

By the middle of week three, Katniss was amazed at the transformation of The Birdcage. Peeta, and the men he'd brought in to help, were doing an amazing job turning it into an 'old-world theatre', as he'd described it.

It looked spectacular, and it was a shame she hated every single little part of it.

She stood on one of the upper balconies, looking down at the work being completed below. Workers hurried around like ants, busying from one place to the next, and in the corner, Tullius overlooked the whole thing, looking like the cat that got the cream. And then there was Peeta, front and centre of the room, bent over drawings he'd done himself of what he wanted it all to look like.

She wished he'd look up at her.

"Is that a smile I see on your face, sweetheart?"

It wasn't a voice she'd expected to hear, not while she was technically 'off duty'. But as she slowly turned, she saw Haymitch behind her, leaning casually against the wall. He was dressed in what they jokingly called his "Capitol Asshole' attire, and his hair was shiny, if not a little shaggier than the Capitol normally let him get away with.

"Not a smile," she confirmed, even while it tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"The Girl on Fire officially just froze over," he offered, and she rolled her eyes.

"Shut up, Haymitch," Katniss muttered, and turned her back on him. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone home."

"I did. But apparently our President isn't very happy with you right now."

"When is he not?"

"True," Haymitch agreed. "But he has some pompous shit needling in his ear about a contract, and that word is filtering its way to me. Therefore, here I am."

She knew, even with his flippant tone, that he hated this as much as she did. He'd fought it for as long as he could, but even the clout of a fellow Victor hadn't been enough to save her. And when Snow had given her the final ultimatum - "_Take my offer, Miss Everdeen. I'd hate for this to happen to someone else in your family. Your sister, perhaps?"_ \- nothing Haymitch could have said would have changed her mind. These days, he wasn't only her Mentor, but he was the one person who knew the truth, about everything.

He was the one person she could trust. Though she was pretty certain Peeta had fallen into that category too.

"I can't help it if The Birdcage is being renovated," she sighed. "That wasn't my decision, and Tullius has stood firm on the contract officially starting once we've reopened." The words alone cut her in two. It was official - Snow and Cassius had signed the documents three days ago, while the three of them had sat in Tullius' private quarters. Cassius had smiled at her in what she assumed he thought was an inviting way, but it was full of the same leering that she'd seen far too often. He made her skin crawl, and the faint brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand had made her want to recoil.

None of it mattered though, and in less than 2 weeks, she would be the actors' exclusive property. She would still perform at The Birdcage, still give the patrons something to occupy their dreams at night, but she would no longer take clients. Her Friday and Saturday nights now belonged to Cassius, and Cassius alone.

"Yeah, but that's not the only thing that concerns me."

"Haymitch Abernathy has concerns - what a red letter day."

He snorted. "Look, just watch where your gaze takes you, sweetheart. If I can see the gazes you send the artists way, I'm sure others can too."

She whirled back to him, eyes blazing, even as he looked back at her lazily, almost as though he hadn't said a word. "There is _nothing_ going on between Peeta and I!"

"Yet," he said smoothly. "I've known you for 4 years now, and not _once_ have you ever looked at a boy the way I've seen you look at him today. Just...be careful. There's a lot riding on this contract with Cassius, okay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she hissed.

"It doesn't matter what it means," Haymitch told her. "I'm just telling you to be careful. If you love him, don't take it too lightly. Don't think it's just a game."

"We both know what games are, Haymitch, and this isn't one," she reminded him shortly, even while her heart felt like it had dropped to her toes. _Love? Was he stupid? Was he crazy? She didn't love Peeta_.

He raised his hands in defeat. "I'm just sayin' okay? Now if you need me, I'll be at the bar next door."

"Of course you will."

She didn't watch him walk away, instead defiantly stared down at Peeta again. She didn't love him. She was attracted to him - undoubtedly - and enjoyed spending time with him. Had enjoyed the few kisses they'd now shared, was grateful that he was trying to do whatever he could to save her from Cassius, even though it was fruitless.

She hadn't told him the contract had been signed. She couldn't. She was fairly certain it would break him even more than it broke her.

Almost as though he knew she was thinking about him, Peeta's head turned, and his gaze lifted, connecting with hers. And her heart stumbled, fell over that final ledge.

She wasn't allowed to love him, but she did.


End file.
